


Accomplishing the Impossible

by amerasu1013 (amerasu_1013)



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerasu_1013/pseuds/amerasu1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, sex with Hannibal is pretty great. Still, there's a little something Face is missing. Every once in a while he'd like to top. Problem is, how does get Hannibal to bottom for him? He needs a plan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accomplishing the Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by: indigo_angels, much love for that!! *hugs*
> 
> Originally written for a prompt at the A-Team kink meme, which I sadly can't find anymore. If anyone stumbles over it, give me a shout and I'll link it.

_“Accomplishing the impossible means only that the boss will add it to your regular duties.” -- Doug Larson_   
__

 

“That time in Vegas?”

“No.”

“That other time with the stripper and the giraffe?”

“Nope.”

“That other other time with the curry?”

“I’m telling you, no.”

“Seriously, Face? Not even when he was partially paralyzed and couldn’t move his legs? Not even then?”

“Nope. His dick worked just fine, and so did his arms. Hell, I might have been on top, but I certainly wasn’t _on top_ , if you know what I mean. He practically used me to ride his own cock.”

“Jeez, Facey. That’s kinda weird. So you’ve had sex 237 times – since I met you, at least – and you never fucked him?”

“Are you keeping count or what?! And no, never. Guy isn’t called ‘boss’ for no reason.”

“Yeah, I get that. Still, you’d think that he’d let you, with the epic romance between you two and all. I mean, I get why he wants to fuck you, we all know you’re irresistible, but…”

“Is that your way of saying I got a great ass?”

“You know it is, Facey.”

“Thanks, buddy, appreciate it.”

“No problem. Can I pat it?”

“Sure, go for it.”

…

“That was nice.”

“Yeah. So, what should I do?”

“I could ask Aethelstan to talk to him; maybe Bossman would listen to a monk…”

“I don’t think so, Murdock. Monks freak him out, I think it’s because of that time with the…”

“… with the stripper and the giraffe, I know. Hm. Guess you’ll have to get creative then, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess. Ah, I’ll think of something…”

“Can I pat your ass again, Face?”

“Not right now, buddy. There’s BA, go pat his ass instead.”

“K.”

…

“What are you doing, fool?!”

“I missed you. Face’s ass is nice an’ all, but yours is better.”

“What are you…? Did you touch Face’s…? Murdock, you better come with me, and I’ll remind you of the _only_ ass you’ll _ever_ be touching, you crazy-ass fool!”

“Bye Face! Good luck!”

“Yeah, yeah. Don't break him.”

 

\-----

 

First, Face tries talking to Hannibal. It… doesn’t quite work out as planned.

In retrospect, he _could_ have chosen a better time. Accosting Hannibal after he kicked the ass of every single member of the new platoon that got stationed here yesterday, all worked up and sweaty and running high on adrenaline, wasn’t the best idea. Boss had established his position as top dog of the whole fucking base just then, figures he would want to do the same in the bedroom. Starting the whole thing with “You know, our sex life got kinda predictable…” wasn’t very helpful either.

A mere second later, Face is shoved down on his knees and Hannibal feeds him his very insistent cock. Talking is difficult after that, plus it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.

He does talk a lot later, though, or rather moans and screams and begs, but it’s more or less his own fault that Hannibal felt the need to show him exactly how un-predictable their sex life was. Days later Face still shivers when he thinks back to that night.

So, talking didn’t work. Maybe he should just make himself scarce for a few days, mull it over, come up with a real plan.

 

\-----

 

Making himself scarce was not. A good. Idea.

Granted, at first Hannibal didn’t seem to notice, accepting his explanations of dinner with the General’s wife and birthday party for Steamy and various errands he had to run readily enough, grunting and waving his okay. The success might have gotten to Face’s head, just a little, and he became careless.

He forgot he needed to find an excuse to spend the night somewhere else, and when Hannibal asked him where he was going, he hesitated a moment too long with his answer. A split second only, but it enough for Hannibal to narrow his eyes in suspicion. Stupid, really. The man watches his every move, every second of every day. Guy can read him like an open book. He should have known the boss would notice.

Still, he walked away, hoping he’d gotten away with it, planning to change into something more comfortable and charm the kitchen staff into letting him use the stove. It was Billy’s birthday the day after and Murdock deserved a cake.

He got to his bunk without trouble and whistled to himself, thinking he’d won.

Yeah, no. Hannibal can be freakily silent for such a big guy.

And now he arches his back, handcuffs rattling while Hannibal pounds him through the mattress, whispering filthy promises into his ear with a dark, dangerous voice. How he’ll make sure Face won’t get away from him now, how he’ll make him come once for every night they spend apart, how Face would scream his throat raw, yadda yadda. It’s hot as hell, seriously, and that large cock fucking him so deep is amazing, but after his third orgasm in two hours he’s kinda beyond coherent thought.

Making himself scarce was obviously not. A good. Idea. Or actually, it was, but not really that conductive to the whole “get Hannibal to let me fuck him” plan.

He’ll have to come up with something else. Maybe brute force?

 

\-----

 

Trying to turn one of their sparring matches into something more carnal, to overpower Hannibal and force him down doesn’t work. He’s not really surprised, for a guy that old the boss is insanely fast and strong. Hannibal’s smirk is very self-satisfied the morning after and his eyes fairly glow whenever a hitch in Face’s step betrays his sore ass.

So, that didn’t work either. But a repeat performance might be something for Hannibal’s birthday next month; boss sure liked the way he moaned.

What else could he try? Bribes?

 

\-----

 

Whiskey makes Hannibal horny, guns make Hannibal horny, fucking _books_ make Hannibal horny, especially seemingly innocent ones about gardening, fuck knows why. Cigars… he’s not even getting into that. Face tried it all, to no avail, apart from hand-shaped bruises on his hips and severe disorientation after coming so hard he passed out. He’ll never be able to look at Hannibal smoking a cigar again without getting hard, those long fingers trailing along the shaft, caressing its smooth length, lips wrapped tight around… he’s getting distracted again. What was he thinking about?

No, bribes don’t work either, plus he never got to tell Hannibal why he kept bringing him nice things anyway, since his lover’s favorite way to thank him is fucking his ass to high heaven.

So. What now?

 

\-----

 

Okay, here’s the plan: he needs to keep Hannibal from pouncing on him long enough to tell him what he wants. This is a problem, because Hannibal awake equals Hannibal wanting sex. And afterwards, Face is usually simply too exhausted to even try and form words. The man is demanding, okay?

The obvious solution: remove his lover’s triggers and decrease the level of attraction. Which is hard, because, seriously, who could resist _him_? Still, there are a few things Hannibal particularly favors.

 

For example:

\- tight pants

\- his hair

\- his orange-scented shower gel

\- sitting with his legs spread, bending over, obviously, adopting any pose that even remotely highlights certain parts of his anatomy

\- and for God’s sake, he has to stop jiggling his leg when he’s trying to concentrate. Apparently Hannibal can see his dick bounce.

 

Removing these triggers should do the trick, right?

Right. _Wrong_.

Baggy pants only mean Hannibal has more room to maneuver when he gropes his ass. Cutting his hair, as much as it pains him to do, but desperate times and all that, has Hannibal fascinated with the softness of his brand new buzz cut. He feels almost like a cat, that large palm resting on his head, fingers smoothing over the short strands, nails scritching his scalp. And then that hand slides down his neck, gently presses his head down towards the bulge between his lover’s legs and afterwards he still feels like a cat, the cat that got the canary. Or the cream, in this case, pun totally intended. Mmmh.

 

Switching from his favorite shower gel to a different one, eucalyptus-scented this time, makes the boss follow him into the bathroom with a very transparent excuse, then into the shower, and then... Also that shower gel is definitely going into their toy box, because seriously? Damn. That’s something for the next time they have leave and Face isn’t actually required to do soldier-y stuff the next morning. Or, you know, move.

 

Avoiding sexy or inviting poses is a flop, too. Suddenly Hannibal seems to have developed a fascination with his neck, his forearms, his _ears_ , for Christ’s sake, so he can pretty much stand or sit or lie or walk any way he wants, he’ll still get molested. Granted though, Hannibal’s found quite a few new erogenous zones that way.

And is he smirking at him from down there, mouth wrapped around his big toe? He’s is, isn’t he? He’s totally smirking at Face. Does he know what Face is trying to do? He can’t, can he? Does he… and that train of thought is shattered immediately when his orgasm crashes over him like a volcano. Fucking _toes_ , Jesus.

 

And that whole thing with jiggling his leg when he concentrates? Apparently, now that Face is consciously trying to stop that, he’s started nibbling on his pen. Which, obviously, is so much worse than jiggling his leg and bouncing his dick. Obviously. But somehow, with him lying there gasping for breath and Hannibal smiling smugly into his neck, he can’t really bring himself to care.

 

So, it turns out that trying to remove the triggers for Hannibal’s never quite low libido went spectacularly wrong. Or fantastically right, depending on the point of view. Face won’t get Hannibal to bottom for him that way, that’s pretty clear, but it damn sure was fun to try.

He doesn’t give up that easily, though. Time to bring out the big guns.

 

\-----

 

 **The goal: appear less fuckable**

Hannibal has a uniform kink, a dog tag kink, a gun kink, knife kink, wrestling kink. Kinks for army clothes: standard issue underwear, standard issue training pants, standard issue camo pants, standard issue swim trunks and so on and so on. Hannibal has a kink for soldiers, strong men, hard men, manly men. Figures, really.

So, obviously, Face should try to appear less manly. Easy as pie.

 

 **Step 1: stop doing soldiery stuff where Hannibal can see it**

But… moving his exercises to a remote location and not running, shooting, lifting weights, _whatever_ right under Hannibal’s possessive eyes doesn’t really help. Hannibal still can smell the gunpowder on him, see the sweat stains and one time he surprises him with fucking binoculars, sneaking back from his hiding place in the woods near Face’s impromptu training grounds. Sneaky fucker. Plus, the idea of Face running off to do his training where Hannibal can’t watch, paired up with random soldiers Hannibal can’t glare daggers at… yeah, he should have seen the flaw in that plan.

 

 **Step 2: do weird and gross stuff in front of Hannibal**

Who would have thought there was someone who found it hot to watch his lover clip his toenails? And he’d known the moisturizing face mask was a mistake – but the wood of the table where his cheek had been pressed _did_ feel a bit softer afterwards.

 

 **Step 3: fuck it all and become really gross**

His skin itches; he hasn’t taken a shower in four days while Hannibal was off harassing the new baby soldiers on their week-long survival trip through the forest. It’s just dried sweat, but it feels like something is crawling over his body, and Face takes some weird delight in imagining all kinds of creepy bugs scuttling along his legs, tiny little feet tickling his arms, burying in his hair.

He reeks, he can smell it himself, and Murdock makes him sit in the direction the wind blows when they eat, it’s great. He hasn’t washed his finally long-again hair either; greasy strands are hanging into his eyes.

He’s completely, utterly gross. Perfect. Hannibal will never fuck him that way. Operation “stop Hannibal from pouncing and finally make him listen, for fuck’s sake” is a go.

 

When the boss gets back from his little trip and sees Face for the first time in a week, his step falters and his eyes widen. Face adopts an innocent expression. What, me? No, I didn’t do anything with my hair, why do you ask? Hannibal steps closer and eyes him in disbelief, nostrils flaring when he catches a whiff of the stench. Then he crosses his arms and jerks his head impatiently towards their room. Great, it’s all going according to plan… now he’ll finally get the boss alone and they can _talk_. And BA said it would never work, that… that _fool_.

Or maybe BA was right. Why is he even surprised, Face wonders as he’s pressed against the wall and the boss is doing his damn best to bury his nose in his arm pit while simultaneously ripping at his clothes. Growls of ‘filthy little minx’ and ‘dirty boy’ reach his ears and yeah, he’s giving up. Apparently there’s nothing he can do that makes Hannibal stop wanting to fuck him. But hey, sex in the shower never gets old. Even if the tiles are _really_ cold.

 

\-----

 

“So, that’s what, 353 times now since I met you guys, and you never got him to bottom?”

“Jeez, Murdock, I’m not keeping count. That’s your thing. But nope, never. Not once. I did manage to touch his hole for like a second, but then he just… flipped me over and…”

“Sodomized you.”

“… right.”

“That was the time you tried the ice cube blow job, wasn’t it? Told ya it wouldn’t work.”

“Wait, what? How did you know that? How do you keep count anyway?”

“I’m psychic.”

“Right.”

“And you’re not exactly quiet, the two of you.”

“Right.”

“Really, you can hear every grunt, every moan, every…”

“Yeah, thanks, I get it. … you miss BA, hm?”

“A little. He’s still mad I didn’t stop you having sex in his car for the third time. No wait, three and a half.”

“A half?”

“You know, four weeks ago, when Hannibal came but you didn’t.”

“Seriously? How do you know that?”

“Told ya, psychic.”

“Sure, okay. Whatever man, I give up.”

“You could knock him out.”

“Ha, no way.”

“Beg?”

“Can’t do that if I got his tongue or his dick in my mouth. And after that I’m mostly busy screaming. But I guess you’d know.”

“Hm. Have BA sit on his chest?”

“Do you want to ask him to do that?”

“Good point.”

“What are y’all talking about?”

“Hey BA! Come sit here, sweetheart. Billy, shove over. I missed you, big guy.”

“BA.”

“Face.”

“Sorry about the car.”

“Nh.”

“I want you to know that every stain that still might be in there is totally Hannibal’s fault. Not mine. … and I’ll totally get you those chrome hub caps you wanted, I promise.”

“Nh.”

“Talkative much?”

“Shut up, fool.”

“Leave Facey alone, Bosco. He’s still all sad the boss won’t ever, you know…”

“Yeah I know, y’told me everything about it, even when I said I didn’t wanna hear.”

“You still mad at me, too?”

“Nh. … No. Fool.”

“Aww, you two are so cute together, really warms the heart.”

“Shut up, Face.”

“Hey Murdock, does BA ever let you fuck him?”

“I said shut up, fucker.”

“Whatever.”

“Let’s go, Murdock. Wanna show you something.”

“Yeah, his dick.”

“I’m gonna punch your teeth in, Faceman.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“C’mon, big guy, let’s go. Bye Facey! Stay strong!”

“Right. You kids have fun now.”

“Face.”

“What, BA, what.”

“Why don’t you just tell him to stop and listen? Boss does stop when you tell him to, doesn’t he?”

“…”

“Fool.”

“Yeah, I think you might be right about that, big guy.”

 

\-----

 

Tell him to stop and listen. Simple. Figures the big guy would come up with that, he’s all broody and moody and shit, while Face would probably have tried to talk and talk and talk, saying stuff about predictable sex lives or suggested they could maybe do something different tonight. To which Hannibal had replied “I’m gonna do _you_ different, boy” and fucked him against the wall, and really, gotta admire that wit. Okay, so the boss had been doing paperwork all day, that stuff messes with a man’s brain, but seriously? Even a “that’s what she said” joke would have been better.

Anyway.

Tell him to stop and listen. Yeah, he probably can do that.

 

\-----

 

In the end it’s surprisingly easy. Hannibal’s at a meeting with the higher-ups and Face passes the time with hiding all the lube bottles and handcuffs and leather belts placed in strategic locations. Hannibal won’t even get the chance to _do_ something this time, no, no…

Hm. Maybe some calming music? He eyes the selection. Nope, this CD gets Hannibal hard, that one makes him even harder, that CD one turns him on so much he can barely talk… okay, no music. And most certainly not any scented candles, not after the thing with the giraffe…

And then… he waits for Hannibal. He’s gonna be teed up after the meeting, dealing with arrogant bastards who don’t want to see that following orders is sometimes wrong, who want him to get rid of that psycho on their team and were really tickled when they saw his buzz cut a while ago, thinking they’d finally managed to get at least one of Hannibal’s inconvenient boys to behave. Fat chance, Face thinks, smirking to himself. Boss probably had his feet on the table and smoked the whole time… Yeah, teed up and horny, he has to be quick or else his plan won’t work.

The door flies open and bangs against the wall. Hurricane Hannibal has arrived. A gust of wind seems to follow him inside, rising goose bumps on Face’s skin. And the boss is on him in a second, growls “need you, kid”, crashing over him like a storm, whirling him around like a helpless animal caught by a tornado, air gusting hotly across his flesh… and why is he thinking in wind metaphors anyway? Ah, must be the lack of air, Hannibal _is_ basically fucking his mouth with his eager tongue. Hm, tastes like Hannibal. And scotch. Wait. He wanted to do something, didn’t he? Oh yes, that. Air first, though.

With a mighty shove against a broad chest he moves Hannibal back a mere two inches, but it’s enough. One deep breath, Hannibal growls in frustration and tries to yank him closer, but too late:

“Hannibal, stop!”

 

\----

 

Hannibal jumps in shock – granted, Face did yell quite close to his ear – and falls backwards, catching himself on his hands before his back can hit the floor. Face sits on his haunches – when did he fall to his knees anyway? – and looks at him. Hannibal’s expression is one of almost comical surprise, eyes wide and mouth gaping, he looks a bit like a fish, and Face can’t suppress a nervous giggle. Hannibal’s eyes narrow dangerously. Uh-oh.

He scrambles back as Hannibal crawls towards him, looking less like a fish now, more like a wild jungle cat, gleaming eyes and bared teeth, ready to pounce and devour, and Face can’t quite stop the excited shudder the sight provokes. Jeez, but the boss looks hot. But no, he can’t get side-tracked now, he has a _plan_.

Face’s back hits the wall, Hannibal is nearly on him and he jerks his hands up to try and fend him off. Eyes narrowed to angry slits glare daggers at him; the boss is seriously annoyed he’s being refused.

“I said stop, Hannibal!”

And somehow, that does the trick. Apparently the word “stop” triggers something in his lover, an automatic reaction to, well, stop. Granted, that doesn’t seem to last for more than a few seconds, but it’s enough if Face can time it right. And why didn’t Face try the whole “stop” thing before? Oh, right, he was usually busy moaning “more” and “yes” and “harder”.

“Just stop for a second and listen, okay? Just stop.”

The boss blinks slowly, looking confused. “You don’t want to…?”

Face rolls his eyes. On any other man’s face that expression would be called a pout. “No, I most definitely want to have sex with you – hey! Would you just stop for a second?!” He fends off grabby hands and glares. “I want to talk to you, okay? Just stop and listen, dammit.”

Hannibal seems to… slump dejectedly. Apparently that finally went through his thick skull.

“Just stop and listen for a sec, okay? Good. So… you haven’t by any chance noticed some differences about me in the last months? Changes?”

Hannibal grins and flashes sharp teeth at him. “Oh, I did. You’ve been quite inventive with getting more of my attention… the thing with the pen, and the shower gel…”

A hand reaches for his ankle and Face swats it away. “Jeez, do you mind stopping that? I’m trying to make a point here!”

Hannibal sighs and settles more comfortably on the floor, apparently resigned to not getting sex in the near future.

“The point is… I didn’t do these things to get more of your attention, I did those things to get less, okay?”

“Well, that didn’t work out.” Hannibal points out. Face rolls his eyes.

“Thank you, Colonel Obvious. But seriously, even after I hadn’t showered in four days?” He still can’t quite believe that.

Hannibal shrugs, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I thought you smelled good.”

 

\-----

 

“Seriously?!”

“Seriously. Kid, there’s nothing you could do that would make me not want you.”

“Nothing? Even if I danced around, wearing nothing but a burlap sack?”

“Would still want you.”

“Even if I covered myself in gravy and… no. Nononono. No way, stop looking at me like that. Don’t even _think_ about it.”

“Mmh. But seriously: there is nothing you could do, nothing you could wear that would stop me from wanting you. I love you.”

“Um. Okay, I guess.”

“So. Can we finally get on with it? I’ve been hard ever since I heard the Sesame Street theme on the way back.”

“Wait, wait wait wait, lemme go, damn, stop it!”

“What _now_?”

“I’m still trying to make a point here!”

“Well, get on with it, kid. … That’s an order.”

“Fucker. It’s just… you’re pretty damn insatiable, and, well, you really have quite the stamina, more than anyone I’ve ever met…”

“Go on. And thanks”

“Whatever. But, well, to be honest, I’m getting kinda bored with getting fucked through the floor every night. Or the wall, or the table, whatever. I just…

“Just what?”

“I just… wanna be on the giving end for once, you know? Fuck you? Just once? Maybe? Please? … Hannibal?”

“Kid, why didn’t you say so? All you needed to do was ask.”

“… oh you bastard. You utter, complete… Fine. Can I please fuck you tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Oh, it’s _on_ , old man.”

“Bring it, little boy.”

 

\-----

 

 

Oh yeah, Face thinks, oh hell yeah. He most certainly could handle it, damn straight he could. Hannibal’s panting harshly, legs still around his waist and Face leans down to suck another bruise into his neck. Hell yeah, that was fucking awesome. And some awesome fucking, if he may say so himself…

He pulls out and smirks down at his lover. Hannibal’s still panting, breath coming in huge gasps, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. Mind blown, it seems. Nice. Face stretches beside him and hides his smile in his lover’s neck. So this is what it feels like, what it felt like for the boss. Sinking himself into that tight ass and pounding away… and afterwards, now _he’s_ the one radiating smugness and _Hannibal’s_ the one out of breath and not being able to talk and...

“Fuck, kid, that was amazing.”

Dammit. Seems Hannibal’s not as incoherent as he thought. Eloquent bastard. He’s gonna have to try harder next time. … Wait. There _will_ be a next time, right?

“So, does that mean we can… do that again?”

“Hell yeah, kid, we’re most definitely going to do that again. Fuck, if I’d known you’d be so damn good at this, I would have let you fuck me a long time ago.”

Aww, that’s kinda sweet. Well, he _was_ pretty damn good, it’s true. Ah, he can be modest. “Learned from the best.”

Hannibal chuckles. “That you did, kid.” He presses back against Face and rubs his ass against Face’s cock, which already starts stirring in renewed interest. “Now shut up and fuck me again, Lieutenant.”

“Yes sir,” Face mumbles, smirks and pounces.

 

\-----

 

“57 times. Fifty. Seven. Times. Not once.”

“I really don’t get what you’re complaining about, Face.”

“Man! It’s been 57 times, I told you! I counted!”

“What? I thought you _wanted_ to fuck him?”

“Yeah, but not like all the time! I wanna get fucked, too!”

“Jesus, Face. Make up your mind, will you?”

“Oh, I made up my mind, I did. 57 times and it’s always _me_ fucking _him_! He gets home and I can barely blink before he’s sitting on my cock! It’s exhausting! I think my dick’s broke, but he’s always so needy and he looks so good bent over the table and I really can’t… this has to stop. I need a break, man!”

“So tell him.”

“Nuh-uh. Tried that already and he thought I was looking for a younger lover, that didn’t… I need a plan. I think I’m gonna try the whole no-shower-thing again. That oughta get him to fuck me.”

“Oh sweet Mary, mother of God, not this again. BOSCOOOO!”

 “What!”

 “Go sit on Hannibal’s chest so Face can make him fuck him again!”

“Oh _hell_ no!”

“Or maybe the gravy thing, he looked pretty interested when I mentioned it… or should I get the eucalyptus shower gel? That was some strong stuff… hey, where are you going? Murdock! Buddy! Hey, wait up, dammit!”

*voices fade into the distance*

 

THE END!


End file.
